The Trials of Fashionable Lucius Malfoy
by i-write-things-sometimes
Summary: Lucius Malfoy has a sense of style. Too bad no one else around him does.
1. lucius picks out an outfit

Lucius Malfoy totally did not have an outfit today.

Three walk-in closets, and there was nothing.

Really.

Nothing.

He couldn't wear the robes with sparkly gold stars- could you say cheesy? He already wore the purple robes last week, and if he wore them again so early, his wife and son would definitely think that he had no clothes, when the opposite was true. He could consider the sparkly robes, but he wondered if it was cool to wear sparkly robes without an occasion. Everyone might think he was gay. Which he wasn't. He had no problem with gay people or bisexual people or trans people (it was only stupid Mudbloods and Muggles that got on his nerves), but he certainly wasn't one of them. Sure, he liked clothes, and sometimes he liked fooling around with make-up charms when no one was looking, and occasionally he dreamed of an alternate career as a fashion designer, but when it came down to it, Lucius Malfoy really was not gay.

Fabulous, stylish, amazing; yes.

Gay? No.

It was called metrosexual. Being very concerned with your appearance, that was all. Lucius had a family name to live up to; he couldn't besmirch his ancestors by wearing, ugh, out-of-date fashion styles or, even more ugh, mis-matched clothes. That was mostly why he hated Arthur Weasley so much. Weasley's family was poor, yes, but can no one afford reasonable looking clothes these days? God, Weasley thought patched up trousers was something you could wear in public!

No.

Sense.

At all.

Lucius flipped through a few more robes hanging on wire hooks and sighed.

Maybe he should start with the basics. Who would see him today? What could he stand to be seen in by those people?

His son and wife, certainly, although neither had his fabulous fashion taste. His wife did okay when she tried, but mostly she didn't. True, she stayed in the house a lot, but that was no excuse not to be stylish! His son, on the other hand, was a different matter. For Draco, it was black sweater, black pants, black robes, black everything, all the time, every hour of the day. Occasionally a Slytherin tie. But that was it. It was terrible. Lucius hated it. He left all sorts of new clothes and accessories at his boy's door as a subtle hint, but they just piled up until Narcissa sighed and cleaned them up.

Who else would see him today?

Lord Voldemort.

God above, Lucius remembered he had an appointment with Lord Voldemort today, and he _didn't have anything to wear. _

Nothing?

Lucius scanned the shelves of his walk-in closet and groaned.

Nothing.

Draco appeared at the door, rolling his eyes. He muttered a few words about breakfast being ready and left quickly before his father could remark on his terrible taste.

Again.

That was how it was: Lucius' family kind of avoided him now. But that was okay. Let them suffer in their horribly chosen attire, their out-of-season dress. Lucius wasn't going to sacrifice style for the two incredibly stupid people who unfortunately was his only remaining family.

He was a Slytherin, after all. Slytherins didn't care about other people!

Also, Lucius read in a magazine once that Salazar Slytherin himself was a pretty snappy dresser.

Lucius sighed and pulled on plain black robes, the least offensive of what he currently owned. He really wished he hadn't chosen them to wear as soon as he inspected himself in the mirror, but by then he figured that he was probably going to be late to Lord Voldemort if he spent any more time mulling over robes.

So then he started on his hair.

Long hair like Lucius' was rare. Most wizards cut theirs short, but why? Why chop off natural beauty? Lucius kept his long, and he liked it that way. He tried to enforce it on his son, too, but that proved to be too much. It was a pity, really. Teenagers. Such ignorant, stuck-up stupidheads.

He combed it a few times over to make sure his hair didn't appear tangled or messed-up, like the hair of that Potter boy. God almighty, that Potter boy was a fashion disaster. Did he even give a snitch about his own appearance? Did ANYONE even give a snitch about their own appearance anymore?

Lucius picked up his hair spray. Clearly, at least HE still cared. He would always be fabulous, even if everyone else wasn't.

It was a depressing sight. Lucius could barely look at his own family as he sat down to breakfast at the table. Why did he ever marry that Narcissa? Did she not know that that particular robe cut was deemed to be for less fashionably-educated witches? And his son! Overkill on the hairspray! And slicked-back hair in its own right was so last year!

Lucius wanted to cry right into his bowl of Wizard Munchie Chocolate Brownie Extra Delight with 45% More Fiber, to tell the truth.

Narcissa pushed around her oatmeal (Oatmeal! Ugh! So...bland!) and put down her spoon. "Lord Voldemort is waiting in the next room, when you're ready." She avoided eye contact with him, because she knew that vehement disapproval was in her husband's eyes.

Draco, however, looked straight at Lucius and smirked. Before his son could say anything else, Lucius stated, "I couldn't find anything else to wear and I'm certainly changing after my meeting with the Dark Lord. God, I've no idea how you survive in plain black. It's drab! It says nothing about you!"

Draco rolled his eyes, and Lucius, annoyed at clothes, his family, life, everything in general, spat, "You think I'm obsessed, but you don't think anything's wrong with yourself when you hole yourself up in your room and play with your dolls!"

Draco's eyes narrowed to slits, and Narcissa sucked in her breath.

It was the lowest blow Lucius could deliver.

Because it was entirely true.

But no one was supposed to say anything about it. It was a family secret. Outside the family, no one was supposed to know that Lucius was subscribed to _Wizard Fashion Weekly_ or that Draco had the best collection of Barbies in the country. Even in the family, no one liked to mention it.

"I collect," Draco breathed dangerously. "Not _play._"

"You play," Lucius said, and stood up, pushing back his chair. He was so upset that he couldn't even finish his breakfast.

So tragic. He deserved his own soap opera.

As he swept out of the room to drown his disappointments in the pleasure of meeting with Lord Voldemort, Lucius said over his shoulder, "And 'breathed dangerously' is a stupid dialogue tag, son. Find something better."

"DON'T YOU DARE INSULT ME ON MY DIALOGUE TAGS WHEN ALL YOU USE IS 'SAID,'" Draco screamed viciously and angrily.

Lucius stopped exiting the room for a moment, enjoying himself. He didn't feel bad picking on his only child because fashion misfits had no souls, in his (and _Wizard Fashion Weekly'_s) opinion.

"That's not any better, son. Too many adverbs."

Draco stood up, flinging down his napkin. "Like you're the lord of dialogue tags! Whatever! I'm leaving! Stupid family! [Lucius privately agreed.] Stupid everything! Angst! I'm going to my room!"

"Too many exclamation marks," Lucius called as his son ran out of the room.


	2. lucius meets voldemort

"Being a father is difficult," Lord Voldemort sympathized as Lucius entered the room. He was perched on one of the armchairs near the fireplace, watching the flames flicker back and Dark Lord rubbed his fingers together. "There was this really good parenting book that I read a while back, when I was waiting for the dentist and there was nothing to do. I can't quite remember the title, but my dentist is Dr. Stolgeck."

Lucius sighed dramatically and sunk into an armchair next to him. "My Lord, my son is hopeless. He doesn't even know that wearing all black is stupid and stereotypical."

"Fashion Boarding School?" Voldemort offered.

"I tried to send him there, but Narcissa wanted her precious baby close to home."

"This is why I have no children." Voldemort sighed and rearranged his seating position. "So, Lucius, have you carried out our previous plan?"

"Which one? Plan 'Let's Do Vague Evilry and Generally Act like Villains Until Harry Potter Defeats Us Again'?"

"Yes, that one," Voldemort nodded.

"It's going well enough," Lucius sighed. "I do wish that Potter boy didn't kick our butts all the time, though. Imagine, being defeated by a boy with horrendous hair and terrible clothes! The humiliation!"

"No one can touch your style, Lucius," Voldemort consoled. "Besides, it is different this time. This time I have no convoluted plan involving many henchman who comically bumble things up. This time, when the time is right, I simply plan to march up right to Harry Potter and kill the %$^%$&%$^& #%$#$ out of his %$^#$&!%^ #%^#%^#%^."

"Don't get killed this time." Lucius hated telling the Dark Lord what to do, but he couldn't resist this word of caution. Lord Voldemort, after all, had been temporarily defeated by Harry when the boy was just a baby.

Voldemort flexed his fingers. "Yes, yes, I'm not stupid," he snapped, although Lucius sometimes secretly thought otherwise. If _Lucius_ was the most powerful dark wizard of all time, he would certainly use his power and influence straight away to get plastic surgery and obtain a nose, but Voldemort clearly would rather spend his time endeavoring to and failing to kill an adolescent boy.

Lord Voldemort massaged his temples with long, disgusting, grimy fingernails (Lucius really thought Voldemort needed a manicure, but the Dark Lord was quite sensitive about his appearance and Lucius didn't dare criticize) and sighed. "That Potter boy. Such an idiot. And yet he manages to thwart even my best-laid plans. What have I been doing wrong, Lucius?"

_Well, for starters,_ Lucius thought,_ some nail trimming wouldn't hurt._ And Voldemort should definitely try to procure some sort of wig; it was hard to be taken seriously if one didn't sport the latest professional hairstyle. Oh, and the black robes- what was WITH everyone wearing black robes lately? Had no one any taste anymore? Lucius would love to design an entirely different wardrobe for his master, full of clothing that dazzled and flashed and made statements instead of the drab black clothing Voldemort usually wore that said nothing. And some shoes wouldn't hurt- his master also had the unfortunate habit of walking around bare-footed, and whenever Lucius spotted a dirty, pale, untrimmed toe peeking out from beneath Voldemort's robes, Lucius felt physically sick.

Lucius thought all of these things and more, but he just bowed his head and said, "Nothing, my lord," because he certainly did not want to be maimed or killed.

Voldemort pulled out his wand and examined it closely for a moment, and without lifting his eyes from it he remarked, "Your son. Drafo, yes?"

It was close enough, and Lucius nodded.

Voldemort put his wand in his lap and folded his hands. "I believe the child of a Death Eater has grown old enough to become a Death Eater himself, am I right, Lucius?"

Lucius seriously did not care what his boy did these days (his boring clothing was SUCH a disgrace to the Malfoy name), but he felt like the correct answer was yes.

Two minutes later, and Draco was rushed into the room to stand before Voldemort. Lucius had grudgingly climbed the stairs to his son's room, opened the door, ignored Draco's protests to knock first, grabbed Draco's arm, hoisted him off the carpet where he had been surrounded by assorted Barbies in various poses, and dragged him off downstairs to the front living room. Lucius himself dropped back into his chair beside Voldemort and hoped his boy wouldn't do anything too embarassing in front of his boss.

Voldemort studied Draco. "Boy, I have the offer of a lifetime to extend to you, and you shall take it because I kill all people who disagree with me."

"I take it," Draco said wisely.

"I'm not done yet," Voldemort snapped. "It is protocol for me to go through the job description anyways, and so you shall listen. I believe you are of age to become a Death Eater-"

"A_ what_?"

Lucius buried his head in his arm and groaned.

"Death Eater," Voldemort said impatiently. "That's what I call my -"

"How the HECK can you draw 'supporter of Voldemort' from the words 'Death Eater'?"

"I thought it sounded kind of cool," Voldemort said off-handedly. "Now, here is what will happen: I will tattoo your arm with this skull-snake...thing that shall make it possible for me to communicate with you no matter where you happen to be-"

"But the tattooing doesn't hurt, right?" Draco asked hopefully. Lucius slid down a little in his chair. He almost couldn't bear to watch anymore, but at the same time the whole scene was a little fascinating: like a train wreck, Lucius couldn't look away.

Voldemort waved his hand. "Of course it hurts! It's a freaking tattoo! That's when I INJECT INK into YOUR SKIN!"

"That's totally stupid," Draco said. "If you can use magic, why not use magic so you can put some idiotic mark on my arm _painlessly_?"

Voldemort's snake-slit nostrils flared. "They are_ not_ idiotic! I worked on the design of the Dark Mark for days! I hired a graphic designer to create the final version!"

"Yeah, a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. Very scary. _Absolutely terrifying_. It's so cliche. I mean, if you want to scare the pants off your audience, you need to keep up with the times. You know what's horrifying these days? High taxes. A low SAT score. McDonald's food."

"How in the _bowels of hell_ would I design a tattoo that looks like a_ low SAT score_?!"

Lucius couldn't believe that his son and Lord Voldemort were arguing over a tattoo, but there you go.

Draco spread out his arms. "Look, I would totally take this Death Swallower gig because it sounds like fun, but I'm not walking around with a humiliating tattoo-"

"DEATH EATER!" Voldemort screamed and raised his wand. But Draco raised his, too, and the game was quickly at a stalemate.

Voldemort whipped around to glare at Lucius. "Lucius- get- your son- he doesn't deserve the honor-"

But, inspired by his son's blatant defiance, Lucius stood up to his master for the very first time.

"I think your nails are absolutely horrifying."

Voldemort gaped.

"Your baldness is unsightly, your feet are terrible and smelly, and every time I look at that noseless face of yours I want to throw myself off a cliff. And don't get me started on your CLOTHES-"

"Father, you're going too far," warned Draco, but not before Voldemort exploded.

"FINE! You think I care about you and your idiotic family! Fine! I don't need you! I'll go room with Bellatrix Lestrange, who ACTUALLY LIKES ME! And my clothes are perfectly fine, how dare you! How dare you insult the Dark Lord! I hope-" Voldemort stopped to wipe his face with his robe sleeve. "I hope you both die tomorrow! Alone! In a cave! Mauled to death by a thestral!" He whipped around to face Draco. "And then I'll find your stupid little body and tattoo my Dark Mark ON YOUR CHEST!"

"MY CHEST IS SOMETHING MERE MORTALS ARE NOT PERMITTED TO TOUCH-" Draco started, but then Voldemort ran sobbing out of the room and Draco looked sore that he missed a second argument.

Voldemort was gone.

Lucius felt strangely liberated. No more barefooted, ugly, pale, noseless men running around his home. No more listening to complicated plans about how to kill Harry Potter. Lucius was...free.

Lucius looked down at his plain black robes and decided that they did not fit this joyous occasion. He should change them. At once. And afterwards, a trip to the wizard salon, just to celebrate. Maybe he'd indulge on Wizard Fashion Weekly's new _Hot or Not?_ book. The Dark Lord did not run crying out of your manor every day.

"I didn't know he was physically capable of tears," Draco remarked. "Did you get on tape? If I put it on Youtube, everyone at Hogwarts would WORSHIP ME-"

"Your fashion sense is idiotic and I hate you," Lucius said, encouraged by his success with expressing his feelings about Voldemort. "If you want to have ANY hope of looking decent, you should grow your hair out like me and let _me_ pick out your robes-"

Draco disappeared off to his room in a second, and Lucius sighed.

Dealing with the Dark Lord was easy compared to dealing with his child.


End file.
